


The colors of our love

by buttheyrebrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Oblivious!Sam, Pining, pining!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttheyrebrothers/pseuds/buttheyrebrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where soulmates can only see colors if their other half is with them both of our boys are oblivious to their soul bond because Dean was too young to remember a world of black and white before Sam came into his life.<br/>He is in love with his little brother nevertheless and silently pining for him over the years, even selling his soul to save his life.</p><p>It takes slowly losing Dean to his deal for Sam to realize that maybe he feels the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loving him was red

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a prompt by the fantastic Maya (lookingoutformybrother on tumblr, all complaints about high tissue usage go to her), I wash my hands of it.

Soulmates were the best and the most frustrating thing cupids have ever known. Their love was the purest thing one could ever wish to witness and every cupid considered it a great reward for their work to see one of these so very rare specimens. But at the same time all cupids were aware that the parting of a soul was a hurtful thing to do and this very soul would forever be lost and in pain as long as it’s other half was not close. That was why it was an especially cruel thing that the vessels that received a split soul were often picked at random.

One could never know where the other half would end up. It could be the girl or boy next door; it could be someone in another part of the world, too far away for even fate to bring them together. Or it could be your very own brother, the one person closest to you and yet so far away at the same time, unreachable because of society’s restraints. And even if it was not a necessity for soulmates to have a romantic or sexual relationship, the sheer fact that no one would ever mean as much to one half than the other made it hard for any potential partner to accept never coming first, never having all of their love, not even the most.

Because it was rather difficult for people to find their other halves God had made it that people whose soul had been split (as not all souls were made in halves) could only see in black and whites as long as they hadn’t found their soulmate. When the two parts of one would find each other the color would return into their life – for as long as they were both alive. But if one of them died the other would lose not only a part of themselves but also their ability to see colors again – until they were re-united in their shared heavens at least. In this regard death was sometimes kinder than any cupid.

Over the years that knowledge had been lost to most because soulmates were rare and people who could only see in black and white were simply thought to suffer from some sickness of the eyes. Even most hunters did no longer know about this condition, it was lost along with their acknowledgement of angels and God. But Mary’s family still did, because of course her father Samuel had been one of the most knowledgeable hunters out there. He was born with colors all around and had been so happy when Mary had been the same. Not that he would begrudge her having a soulmate, given that these bonds were said to make the pair happier and stronger (at least mentally, although some said physical as well) than average people. But the pain of having to life with a frayed soul if the other part was not to be found was nothing he wished on his only daughter.

Of course he had passed on his knowledge to her. When she met John she had cautiously asked if he had always been able to see in color, afraid she wasn’t the one for him. But that was not the case and their chances of being happy together had been as good as any other couple’s. When Mary had given birth to Dean she had been very curious and – as soon as he had been old enough – she had started to test if he was able to see colors. He hadn’t been. And that had not been the only strange thing about her firstborn. He was a generally happy and exuberant kid but sometimes he would get quiet without a reason, motionless sitting in a corner of the room as if he was waiting for something. Or someone, as he was sometimes talking quietly to himself. She once had caught him when he had been demanding angrily “Come. Don’ wanna wait.” She had always thought he had been talking to an imaginary friend but from then on a doubt had been growing inside of her. It couldn’t be. Or could it?

When she had gotten pregnant for the second time, she and John had been a bit worried how Dean would react to not being their sole focus of attention anymore. This had been a needless worry, as Dean had proved to be very affectionate and protective to the baby in her belly right from the start. In fact, he had been the one who had tipped her off that she might have been pregnant in the first place when he had laid his head on her stomach, gently stroking it before he had placed a kiss there and said “There you are.”

She had still been able to harbour some doubts – until the day she had placed little Sammy in Dean’s arms for the first time. Sammy had been restless the whole time, constantly making noises and squirming in her arms, but as soon as Dean’s hands had cupped his head he had been still, looking up at his older brother with big eyes. And Dean had starred right back, wonder, love and adoration in his gaze – emotions too old for such a young face. And then he had spoken six little words that had made Mary’s heart break for her boys.

“Mama, his eyes change colors.”

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Mary had been unable to bring herself to tell Dean about the fate that would await them; he had been still so young. She also hadn’t told John, afraid he might not understand. Sam would grow up without ever knowing the black and white of the world and maybe Dean had been too young to remember it. Maybe, just maybe, they could live a normal life as brothers, united and stronger with the bond between them. She had wished for some understanding partners that could accept always coming second. A mother could hope.

To say that after Mary’s death and John’s awakened thirst for revenge the brothers had grown up close would have been like saying maybe it was a good idea to breathe occasionally. Dean would always watch Sam like a hawk, hovering close all the time, afraid his baby brother could get hurt. He was the one to change his diapers, to feed him or calm him down when he had one of his crying fits. Every night Dean would sneak in his crib. Not that Sam minded. He would always latch onto Dean as soon as he was inside the crib, most of the time without waking up. His tiny little fist would bunch up Dean’s PJs between them and his forehead would rest against Dean’s chest.

When they got older, people would comment on their closeness, saying it was strange for Dean to be so attached to his four years younger brother, even if they could understand why Sam was trailing him like a lost puppy. Dean would still carry Sam around, not caring how heavy the now three year old has gotten. They still shared a bed and John was secretly glad to save money this way. Sam would get anything he wanted from Dean, who never took anything for himself, content to see Sammy’s eyes light up in joy. And it was not like Sam didn’t give anything back, quite the contrary. He just learned early on to be sneakier about it than his big brother. He would disguise the things he did for Dean as his own wishes, like he liked to go to the mall to play video games or like his favourite food was pie, too. Even his dad believed they did what Sam wanted, when in truth they finally did something for Dean, no matter how small these things would be.

John would never forget the drama that had ensued when Dean was supposed to go to school and had to leave Sam behind, who still went to kindergarten. One would have thought that Sam would be the one crying and screaming – and there had been tears on his face – but Dean had been worse, outright refusing to let Sam out of his sight. “But what if the monsters get him, Dad? I need to protect him.” It took John half an hour and a pinkie-swear to protect Sammy at any cost to make Dean go. This went on for several months. Dean would need ages before he was finally able to leave Sam out of his sight and he never stayed longer than necessary at school, anxious to get back to Sam as soon as possible. John suspected on of the reason he still went at all was that he learned reading and that was another way for Dean to make Sam happy. He would sneak comics from class mates – or sometimes beg John for one – and then read them to Sammy, painfully slow at first because he himself was just learning to string the letters together so that they would build words. And when he was finally able to read rather fluently he started to read books to Sam, glowing under the worship that was shining in Sam’s bright eyes.

The separation anxiety was getting better over the years – slightly. John still felt like a monster the first time he took Dean on a hunt and left Sam behind. Sam called several times a day and Dean’s head wasn’t in the game at all, nearly getting both of them killed. But even that improved over the years, never mind that the best solution still was to take both or leave both behind.

And John didn’t even know half of it. At first Dean’s eyes had been glued to his little brother for all the right reasons, he needed to protect him, to prevent monsters and demons to take him from Dean like they had taken his mom. Sammy was his to protect, his to love and cherish. Dean had no idea when things started to get screwed so badly but one day he found himself watching Sam for other reasons.

It would not be uncommon for him to dream of his brother, given how much time they spent together every day. But it was the first time he woke from one of this dreams gasping, his dick hard and aching and his mind screaming at him ‘brother, brother, brother’. The shame burnt even worse than the desire in his veins when his hand wrapped around his straining erection. He brought himself to completion with Sammy a hand width away that night. It would not be the last.

Things got only worse from then on. Dean was constantly torn between wanting to touch Sam, to be close to him and to run as far away as he could to protect Sam from himself. And it put a serious strain on their relationship at first. Sam felt that something was wrong with Dean, knew that his big brother acted strange – well, stranger than usual at least. He tried to talk to him; stealthily asking questions when Dean had something to drink or was really tired but he had no luck. So he decided to try yelling, loudly demanding to know what he had done to deserve this treatment. He had tears in his eyes when he asked with a broken voice “What have I done, Dean? Please, I’m sorry, whatever it was. I’m sorry. Don’t shut me out. I’m sorry. So sorry.” It broke Dean’s heart and he decided then and there that Sam would not have to suffer from his tainted soul. No matter how much it hurt to be close to Sam but not allowed to touch, to be able to watch him under the disguise of protection and having to witness other people getting what he so desperately wanted. None of these things mattered as long as Sam would be happy.

And he managed, mostly. There still were days when he wanted to crawl out of his skin, when the flames of desire licked at his resolve, desperate to burn it down and eat him alive. But mostly, it was okay. Sammy was still his bratty little brother Dean loved with every fibre of his body and he was still the hero Sam looked up to. Nothing had to change, even when all he could see when he closed his eyes was Sammy dancing in the light of the fireworks, Sammy pondering over a book as thick as his head, tongue peeking out as he concentrated way too hard for a fifteen year old boy, Sammy with sleep-tousled hair smiling at up at Dean before he was even awake all the way.

And Dean thought that he could have gone on like this all his life, his heart safely tucked away in his brother’s chest. But fate is a cruel mistress because she decided to punish Dean for his sinful cravings and took Sam away from him. Not only to Stanford, but to a bright future far away from Dean and his fucked up ways. He should be happy for him and let his heart be his parting gift to Sam, but the selfish part of him screamed and rampaged in agony.

Dean had no recollection of driving Sam to the bus stop but there they were, looking at the huge greyhounds in silence. There were so many things Dean wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, like pull Sam close and put his arms around him like a cage he could not flee from. He wanted to say “ _Please don’t go_.” and “ _I promise I’ll never touch you or look at you for too long again but please don’t leave me._ ” but most of all he wanted to say “ _I love you, be careful and think of me some days._ ” He didn’t say neither, merely pushing a wad of cash at Sam. “You’ll need it. I can hustle more.”

Sam’s hands were shaking badly when he took the money and his eyes were treacherously moist when he looked back at Dean. But he didn’t say a word either.

They looked at each other for a long time before Dean broke the silence, no longer able to bear it. “Hurry up, or your bus is going without you to the Promised Land.” That at least earned him one of Sam’s infamous bitchfaces. It didn’t held long, replaced by a softer look when he whispered “Take care, Dean.” And with that he vanished out of Dean’s life, leaving behind his ghost to haunt Dean forever.

“You, too Sammy.”

His world didn’t turn black and white that night but he felt Sam’s absence like a physical sensation, dulling his vision and making everything bleak and grey anyway. He sneaked to Stanford as often as possible but always watched from a safe distance. He and Sam sometimes talked on the phone but longing was choking his voice and despair held his words hostage so they mostly kept silent, just breathing, a reminder. Breathing in ( _I am here brother),_ breathing out _(you are not alone)_.

Dean’s other ways of coping weren’t as good but held the pain at bay. Alcohol became his closest companion until one night he was attacked by two vamps, and too incapacitated to properly fight back, got his ass handed to him by them. They nearly killed him that night before he managed to behead them. Dizzy from the whiskey and blood loss he made the mistake of calling Sammy, aching to hear his voice and afraid it could be the very last time. He nearly passed out while the call was connecting and wouldn’t that be ironic. When Sam finally answered after several rings – it had been in the middle of the night – Dean was too weak for much small talk, so his only words were “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” slurred nearly beyond recognition. Sam understood anyway.

The GPS in Dean’s phone saved his life that night. His own stupidity and fear made him lose it later on, when he pushed Sam away during his visit at the hospital. “Go away, Sam. I don’t need a chaperone. I don’t need _you_.”

They hadn’t talked after that for two years.

He told himself that it was for the best, this infatuation of his needed to end and some distance would help with that. Unfortunately, his feelings never got that memo.

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Sparks flew between them when they fought in Sam’s living room and when his – not so little anymore – brother pinned him to the floor he was blindingly hard in seconds. Seems like his body was totally on board with being under the solid muscles Sam suddenly packed, even if he was still rather lithe compared to Dean. He willed his suddenly dry mouth to move.

“Get off of me.”

“Dean, what the hell are you doing here?” And that hurt, more than any hit Sam had landed. Sure, he hadn’t expected a declaration of love but at least some joy for seeing his brother after two years of radio silence. It was a good thing he had so much practice concealing his feelings with sarcasm and stupid jokes.

“Well, I was looking for a beer.” Perfect comeback, except for the fact that he couldn’t keep his hands off Sam, the strange magnetism between them pulling him closer to his brother’s body without his permission.

“What the hell are you doing here?” This time slower and with more force behind it, Sam was using his I’m-seriously-pissed-so-stop-acting-like-a-jerk voice.

So Dean went with the truth – at least with a part of it. You couldn’t very well say _I was missing you, not like a body missing a limb but like a limb missing a body, totally useless and unable to function without it, just a piece of dead meat_. At least not to your own brother and Dean hated it; he hated it with a burning passion, cursing the gods or whoever wanted to punish him so badly.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse life took a well-aimed swing at him, hitting right into his nuts. That would at least explain the searing pain he felt when the long-legged blonde was introduced to him as Jess, Sammy’s girlfriend. His vision greyed at the seams again and breathing got a bit harder, because of course there had been girls in Sam’s life before, but none of them had gotten the look Sam gave to her. It felt like he lost Sam all over again, as if a stupid, desperate and broken part of him had still hoped – despite everything – that there maybe, just maybe, would be a chance for him, for them. He felt like hope was the dog shit underneath his sole, hard to get rid of and constantly ruining his day.

At first Sam outright refused to help him find their father, claiming some interview as the reason when it was plain as day that he didn’t want to get pulled back into their life. But in the end he agreed to come with Dean anyway and Dean couldn’t fight the smug smile that crept onto his face when Sam went back into the apartment to get his stuff and say goodbye to Jess. She maybe had him in her bed, even in her life, but he would always come back to Dean.

He didn’t feel so smug when the yellow eyed demon took her from Sam. Not at all. Seeing his little brother so utterly broken made him want to crawl somewhere to die. And if he had thought that tears would be bad he was not prepared for the cold rage that alternated with bleak detachment in his brother’s eyes.

It was during their first hunt after the woman in white when Dean started to understand that the man next to him was no longer the innocent little boy or gloomy teenager he had known. His Sammy had gone and changed without him there to witness every step and he felt betrayed for all the moments he had missed. That would never happen again. From then on his eyes were once again glued to his little brother, his gaze soft and longing beneath the protectiveness he felt flooding him whenever his eyes fell on Sam.

Dean had always worried about Sam, way before he had realized the twisted nature of his feelings. And when they had their encounter with Bloody Mary the excessive worry that was threatening to drown him, drove home once again just how deep his feelings really went. It was dawning on him with startling clarity that he would never survive something happening to Sam. Never. Like a loyal dog he would lay down beneath him until death would come to him, too, while Dean would be begging desperately to be taken to Sam.

Still, they fell back into their companionship with surprising ease. Like he had said the night of Jess’ death – they made quite the team. And as long as Dean held a close lid on his feelings nothing ever had to change. Or so he thought.

He really did his best to distract himself, he slept with woman whenever the opportunity would arise and even tried pushing Sam at women, too – as soon as he felt that the raw pain of losing Jess had scabbed over a bit, that was. What he didn’t expect was to become the green-eyed monster as soon as Sam showed some real interest in someone. Sarah was great and Dean was all for them to get it on. Until he wasn’t. And when he watched them kiss the green jealously flooded his veins and turned his insides bitter.

Sometimes, Dean wondered if someone could see how he felt, like his feelings were something physical, a cloak he was wearing like a second skin – only that he could never take it off, no matter how hard he tried.

He caught the suspicious glances John would send his way now and then after they had met up with their father and the first thrill of joy at their reunion had ebbed up a bit. Although he never said a single word, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that his father could see right through him, just like he always had. But what really surprised him, was that John shot just as many glances at Sam than Dean, like he suspected a spreading of the incestuous feelings Dean harboured had happened. And yet he hadn’t even seen Sam’s desperate attempts to save Dean’s life after he had been dumb enough to electrocute himself. Back then even Dean had trouble believing just how far his little brother had been willing to go to save his sorry life.

He would be lying if he said that it didn’t warm a part of him he thought was buried too deep to be reached. It was that same part that made his heart beat excitedly in his chest when Sam was able to sense him as a spirit. It was also the part that was yelling at him when he – again – pushed Sam away instead of leaning on him like he so desperately wanted to.

He started keeping secrets from Sam, refused to tell him what John’s last words had been or just how worried he really was. He never once believed that his Sammy, the best man he’s ever known, could be evil. But he was afraid of what the yellow eyed demon could do to him, what plans he had for his little brother. He was afraid of losing Sam.

During their encounter with the Croatoan virus he realized that he was even more afraid of losing Sam than of losing his own life, willing to lay it down if it meant he could spend his last minutes with his brother.

Sometimes this scared him the most, the lengths he was willing to go, the things he was willing to do and most of all, the sacrifices he was willing to make for Sam. Being strong was getting harder and harder for him, fighting his innermost desires was a battle he was slowly losing.

It all came to head in this damn hotel, Sam drunk and desperate and oh so lost. He was looking at Dean with despair, willing his big brother to make it better, going as far as begging him to do the unspeakable, the unthinkable. He wanted to yell _Don’t ask that of me, anything else, I‘ll give you everything, I carve my heart out and give it to you on a silver platter, just say the word. But not this, never this._

Dean already knew that he would give his own life in a heartbeat for Sam but he soon learned a terrifying truth about himself. He was also willing to risk the life of someone else if it spared Sam’s. The thing that possessed his brother – Meg – threatened to kill Jo and all Dean could do was pleading with Sam to not do this but unable to hurt the only real thing left in his life. And the bad guys knew it.

Dean had no idea how all this could ever end well but he was still surprised just how bad things could really get.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam died on a Tuesday night in Dean’s arms. He was stabbed in the back just before Dean could reach him. He was unable to stop it, he was fucking useless. The only thing he could do was catching his little brother before he fell into the mud and cradling his lolling head in his hands.

“Sam. Sam. Hey. Hey come on. Let me look at ‘ya.” There was blood seeping through Sam’s cloths, so much blood and his body was getting limper with every second that was ticking by. This could not be happening. What had he done to deserve this? What had Sam done?

He was babbling now “Hey look at me; it’s not even that bad; it’s not even that bad, alright?” If he said it often enough maybe he could believe it, too. Maybe it would make it true.

Then several things were happening at once.

His little brother was slipping from him, his eyes rolled back in his head while his eyelids closed to hide the hazel of Sam’s eyes.

At the same time the world around Dean started to get darker, shades of grey creeping in on him. But he didn’t care.

“Sammy? Sam! Hey! Listen to me, we’re gonna patch you up, okay? You be as good as new, huh? I’m gonna take care of, I’d take care of you, I got you. It’s my job, right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother.”

Everything was black and white by now.

“Sam? Sam? Sa – m? _Sammy_!”

That was his brother, his everything, in front of him, his eyes closed and his face slack. Dean could no longer make out the tone of his skin, couldn’t see if he was too pale – he tried to tell himself that Sam just lost consciousness; that he would be alright. But the longer he looked in the unresponsive face of the most precious thing he’s ever had the harder it got to pretend. Until something snapped inside of Dean.

“No no no no no no” he was pawing at Sam, willing his soul to stay inside, to stay with him, sobs wrecking his body while he tried to climb inside of Sam to stop the life from leaving. Only, it already did.

There was only one prayer left for Dean to say and the pain ejected it from his body with force.

“SAM!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean had no recollection of how they ended in that little shack but he was grateful they got Sam out of the mud and the cold. He laid his brother’s long body on the small cot as gentle as if he was handling a new born.

He knew he was scaring Bobby and that by now the old man couldn’t have a single doubt about the way Dean was feeling about his little brother. There were not many ways to understand the meaning behind his willingness to let the world end because his already had.

And Dean had yet to tell Bobby about the sudden change in his vision and what it meant. Because he knew what it meant. Sam was his soulmate. They shared one soul between them, bound in a way that ran even deeper than blood. He had found a book from Mary, back when they had been working that case in their old house and there had been a part about soulmates. How they could only see in color when they had found their soulmate, and that they lose this ability again would death claim their other half. The book described how precious such pairs were, how strong and fortunate should they ever find each other. Dean shouldn’t be surprised, even if he didn’t remember a time without colors in his life, because the bond between them had turned heads ever since they were kids. And he screwed it up. He went and just lost a part – and if he was honest with himself the best part – of himself.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Dean had thought Sam leaving for Stanford had hurt but this pain was actually ripping him apart. Only that didn’t matter; he would happily lay down the bloody shreds at Sam’s feet like he was a shrine to worship at if that meant the gods would grant him just one wish.

This was exactly what he was going to do.

Making the deal, selling his soul, had been surprisingly easy. He already knew Sam was the best part of him; he could divest himself of the rest, happily. There had never been a choice.

As soon as his lips touched the demon’s ones colors exploded around him and everything looked so much brighter and better. His light had returned to him.

Knowing and believing were still two different things, so he didn’t dare to breathe until his arms closed around Sam in a hug that spoke of pain, of loss and desperation, and of so much love it hurt both of them. He was still holding on longer than ever before.

His part of their soul was singing in joy, as was his heart, every part of him chanting only one word.

 _Sam_.


	2. Losing him was blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's POV

The first thing Sam saw when his eyes flew open was an unknown ceiling that needed some serious repairs. Or a demolition. The next was the inside of a shack he had never seen before. But before he could start to wonder where he was – and why – a searing pain made him wince. His fingers reached behind to rest on his lower back, where he could feel some serious scar tissue. What had happened? And where was Dean?

Just when he started to get his bearings the door to the shabby shack opened and Dean barged in like the devil was after him. His face was pale and erratic and he looked at Sam like he was seeing a ghost, disbelieve written in every line. He hesitated in the door like he was afraid of coming any closer. Sam was beyond confused.

“Sammy.” A soft whisper, like speaking too loud would change the truth of Sam being there. He wondered what had made Dean so afraid.

“Hey.” Cautious, as he would speak to a spooked animal. It seemed to break the spell because one moment they were staring at each other and the next Dean’s body was colliding with his and his big brother’s arms closed around him in a bone breaking embrace. Dean was clinging to him like he was afraid Sam would vanish any moment if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“Ow. Uh, Dean –“ as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them because Dean’s arms released him immediately.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, man. I'm just...I'm just happy to see you up and around, that's all. Come on, sit down.” Something was so wrong Sam could basically taste it in his mouth. But Dean didn’t look like he was in any state to be prodded right now. Still, he had to ask what had happened to him because waking up and being able to walk around was not something Sam thought possible so soon after being stabbed, if what Dean explained had happened was true. And why wouldn’t it be?

He noticed that Dean was deflecting his questions about how it was possible to patch up such a serious injury but decided to let it go for now. He just wanted to go after Jake and the yellow eyed demon to tear them both apart.

Only Dean wouldn’t have any of it. When his stupid big brother was usually the first one to barge into danger, consequences be damned, he now insisted on Sam getting his strength back, of taking it easy. Sam had no idea what to make of that but it unnerved him greatly. Not even the burned down roadhouse and the deaths of their friends were enough to spring Dean into action, so Sam decided to just take the initiative and go but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop, Sam, stop. Damn it. You almost died there.” That sounded much more serious than what Dean had first told him and maybe it was even worse because his big brother seemed close to tears by now. His voice was slightly trembling when he said “I mean, what would I have-- you just take care of yourself for a little bit, huh? Just for a little bit?” Sam really wanted to give in because Dean seemed so distressed and he hated seeing him like this but people were dying. They had to do something.

“I'm sorry. No.”

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Bobby’s reaction when he saw Sam was another thing that told Sam something was seriously wrong. Dean was hiding something from him and Bobby knew about it, too. Unfortunately for Sam there was no time to use his weapons of choice – the puppy dog eyes or his infamous bitchface #3525, the one that said stop-bullshitting-me-or-there-will-be-consequences – before they had to face off yellow eyes. Their personal crap had to take the backseat while they tried to save the world. No wonder they were both emotionally stunted, Sam thought.

And then Jake told him what had really happened.

“Wait – you were dead. I killed you.” Jake sounded so sure of it, disbelieve coloring his voice. Sam still hoped he was wrong.

“Yeah? Well next time, finish the job.”

“I did! I cut clean through your spinal cord, man.” That could not be true. He glanced at Dean, willing him to explain how it could not be the truth. The look on Dean’s face told Sam everything he needed to know.

After killing the demon their lives were supposed to be made of good stuff, freedom, hope, happiness. They deserved it, after everything, the universe owned them a fucking break. But Sam had to learn that the universe very much didn’t care at all about the Winchesters. Probably never had. There was no reason for celebrating that night and chances were high that a year from now there would also be no reason to get up in the morning.

“You shouldn't have done that. How could you do that?” His stupid, stupid, selfless, wonderful big brother. Why in the world would he do something like that? Why does he have to love Sam so much?

Dean looked at him like Sam had just hit him, his eyes pleading, begging for his understanding. “Don't get mad at me. Don't you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That's my job.”

Why was it so hard for Dean to understand that this was a two-way street? That he was not the only one loving his brother? Sam was the first one to admit that he had not always shown Dean how much their bond meant to him, he had made choices in the past that had hurt Dean and had failed to communicate his feelings for his brother, for his family – he knew that. But this would change now. He swore to himself that his big brother would never have another reason to doubt Sam’s devotion him.

He told Dean as much. “You've saved my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this. Guess I gotta save your ass for a change.”

He just wished Dean’s soft “Yeah.” would have sounded more convinced.

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The year Dean was given turned out to be the hardest year Sam has ever had. Harder even than the year after Jess’ death. That year had been full of rage and grief but now he was not even sure what he was feeling. He could not be angry at Dean, not really. And he refused to grief him because he was still here, still breathing and joking and driving Sam up the wall.

That left nothing but cold dread. His body was under constant stress and the panic he felt whenever he thought about how many (how little) days were left threatened to crush him. Every time he looked at his brother his chest would constrict, his heart would beat rapidly and the nerves in his stomach would flutter.

He had gotten glimpses on how far he was willing to go to save Dean when his dumb big brother just wanted to give up after getting electrocuted. But what he was going through now was somehow even worse. Not because he had been less desperate to keep Dean alive and with him back then but because Dean had not only given up but was actively trying to stop Sam from saving him.

It was killing Sam to know how little Dean seemed to care about himself, when every day that ticked by only served to drive home to Sam just how important his big brother was to him.

Dean had always been the one thing in Sam’s life he could count on. He had been the one to teach him how to read properly, practising with him every afternoon and cheering him on along the way. Dean had been the one to praise him for good grades, he had been the one who came to his soccer games or watched his debating society matches. Dean had been his advisor when he had his first dates, he had been the shoulder he had cried on when they had to leave town and the girl he liked with it. Whenever Sam had turned around Dean had been there, radiating strength and silent support. Sam had never been afraid of anything because he had never been alone.

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Sam realized that without wanting to he was selfish when he refused to celebrate Christmas with Dean because he couldn’t bear the thought of it being their last together. He saw how much Dean wanted to hang on some happy things, to make the best out of the time he had still left (only five more months, how could time fly by so fast?). So he decided to swallow down his own issues and put his brother’s needs first.

What Sam didn’t expect was how breathtakingly young Dean looked under the twinkling light of the Christmas tree he had put up, the bruising accentuating the brightness of his eyes, making them looking even bigger. His brother’s face was beautiful, Sam had known that all his life, had heard the girls gush about how handsome Dean was with his green eyes and that kissable lips. But now the sight of him touched something inside of him he hadn’t felt in a very long time. There had been a time when he, too, had thought about how those lips would feel against his, how soft Dean’s hair would be if he would just dare to card his fingers through it.

But he had buried these feelings deep and all but forgot about them; sure it had only been an infatuation like all teenagers had at some point. Only maybe it hadn’t been.

That night had changed things for Sam and not for the better. If the thought of losing his big brother and best friend had hurt like hell and sent him into panic attacks whenever he thought about it than this newly (re-)discovered feelings only worsened the desperation and guilt he felt. It got so bad that he couldn’t trust his own instincts any more, willing to trust a demon if only she could save Dean.

And Dean still refused to help Sam saving him, unwilling to jeopardize Sam’s life like this, blind to the fact that Dean’s death would turn it in some unspeakable hell. And after their second run in with the trickster Sam knew this was true. The thing that had existed these six months without Dean hadn’t been Sam but an empty shell, bereft of everything human. Wherever Dean would go when his deal came due, Sam’s heart and soul would follow.

It took some monster tricking Dean into believing their dad was out there to help them for Dean to open up to Sam and admitting the one thing he had wanted his brother acknowledging so badly, because it meant he was finally willing to fight.

“I'm scared, Sam. I'm really scared.”

It hurt to hear the bravest man he knew to say something like that, it did. But for Sam it was the first step because now they would fight together and everyone who ever stood against them knew by now that Sam and Dean as a team? Were fucking unbeatable.

Only they weren’t. Not at all. Sam wished fiercely he had insisted on them trying the spell that had made Doc Benton immortal. An eternity with Dean was worth everything else they would have been forced to do for the spell to work. He didn’t care that it would have made them monsters because at least this way they could have been outcasts together. He didn’t need anything else besides Dean anyway.

But Dean had refused, hadn’t been willing to pay the prize attached to the solution. And Sam loved Dean – sure, he did so in all the wrong ways but still. Loving Dean meant accepting his wishes. It was the hardest thing Sam ever had to do.

And when they faced Lilith, and there was nothing they could do he regretted it with every fibre of his body. What was the use of love when it didn’t save the day like it did in all those stories? When it only served to make the hurt so much stronger, the pain to reach so much deeper? Why does he have to have a heart when all his beats were for a damned man?

When the hellhounds came Dean’s last glance had been for him, his last words a goodbye for Sam. Even in his last minutes on earth, all Dean did was for his little brother. Just like it had always been.

So when the red blood spilling from Dean’s body turned grey Sam was not surprised. Dean had taken Sam’s heart, his hope, his will to go on – no wonder he had taken the colors of the world with him, too. What was the use for them if Sam couldn’t see the green of Dean’s eyes light up anymore, when the cinnamon brown of his freckles wouldn’t be there anymore to make him crave coffee whenever he saw them?

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He cleaned Dean’s body himself, washing of the grey sticky blood from his face gently while he cradled his head in his hands. He took the amulet from his brother’s dead body because he was not willing to part with it, too. He needed something to carry with him, something that reminded him of better times when he still had the love of his life with him. Because that was what Dean had been, he knew that now. Sam had always been too blind to notice and now it was too late, so he deserved the despair and the anguished sobs that wrecked his body.

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They buried Dean on Sam’s 25th birthday. Sam would have loved to say he was strong, like he knew Dean would have wanted him to be but the truth was he had nothing left to be strong for. So when he fell on his knees beneath the little cross that marked Dean’s grave he wasn’t even sorry. There was nothing but grief inside of him, all consuming and aching. He heard someone cry like a wounded animal and realized it had been him, the sounds coming out of his mouth foreign in their rawness. He was glad he made Bobby leave, not because he was ashamed but because he didn’t wish on anyone to witness someone you love like a son to be ripped apart in front of you.

When he was finally able to stand on his feet without toppling over, he slowly made his way back to the Impala, tears making it hard to see the way in front of him. He sat behind the wheel for a long, long time without moving. The setting sun shone in his face and he was suddenly annoyed with it. How dare it shined when Dean was no longer there to see it?

He flapped down the visual cover to shut the traitor out and was startled by a folded sheet of paper falling out. He recognized the writing immediately. _Oh Dean._

Sam stared at the piece of paper for a long time, afraid of his own reaction. He was not sure he was able to hold it together when he read Dean’s letter to him – because what else could it be? But if this was the last thing Dean wanted to say to Sam than he would well damn listen to it.

_Sammy,_

_I am so sorry we couldn’t get me out of this goddamn deal, I really am. But I don’t regret it. It gave me one more year with you, little brother. And I know you’re hurting right now and I wish I could take the pain away like when we were kids. I was so good at taking care of you and I’m sorry I’m not anymore. I don’t know what happened that your big brother was no longer able to chase the hurt away with some gentle words and a little kiss to the part of you that hurt._

_Please, don’t be mad at me. I know you are stronger than me, Sammy because I’m weak. I wasn’t able to go on even one day without you in this world. And I know you feel guilty, but please don’t be. You did everything you could, I know that. Sometimes it’s just not enough. Happy endings are not for everyone and anyway, my happy ending had always been you. I know I’m selfish right now, but I need you to know one thing._

_I am in love with._

_I have always loved you. Every part of you, the good things and the ones you didn’t like. All of it._

_And I know you don’t feel the same and that’s okay, little brother. You still gave me everything I could have ever wished for. So don’t feel bad. Don’t seek revenge. Take care of yourself. Go find a nice girl and settle down. I want you to be happy._

_That’s all I ever wanted._

Tears were smearing the words in front of him, washing Dean’s words away from the paper. Sam wished they would have been so efficient and washed his feelings away, too. Dean had been _in love_ with him. He died thinking Sam didn’t feel the same.

He carefully folded the paper before he put it in the glove box. He just hoped that loving your own brother was sin enough to land him in hell because he didn’t plan on sticking around much longer. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t take some black eyed bastards with him.

He had work to do.


End file.
